Trial By Responsibility
by Super Lemmingo
Summary: My first attempt at a "Recess" fanfic. The Fourth Grade gets dragged on a week-long field trip... R&R, please... **Chapter Three now up**
1. Chapter One

Disclaimer: With the exception of any that I choose to create myself, the characters, situations, and ideas discussed in this fic belong to Disney. I own nothing but the shirt on my back, and the random order in which the words are typed. Oh, and the cup of coffee that I'm knocking back while typing them... which, of course, would explain the caffeinated and delirious nature of most of this fic...  
  
Ok. Annoying legal technicalities out of the way. Fic takes place about three weeks before the end of Fourth Grade, before the movie "Recess: School's Out", which the humble author has yet to experience the joys of watching. And... err... well, I'm renowned for incessantly babbling at the beginning of fanfics, so I suppose I should really fill up another couple of lines or so with mundane and pointless crap like this. Or not. Enjoy.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Trial By Responsibility  
  
*  
  
Chapter One  
  
Ah, Friday. By far the best day of the week; with the events of the previous week now nothing more than a far-distant glimmer in a careless memory, and the future holding sweet and tantalising promise of the upcoming weekend, it was no surprise that Theodore J. Detweiller approached the doors of Third Street School on this particular Friday morning with a spring in his step and a self-satisfied smirk upon his face. Yes, life was good for the young Fourth-Grader, and even the dangerous warbling of one Muriel Finster as she threatened loiterers with detention could not wipe the smug grin from his features as he began to ascend the well-worn steps to make his way into the familiar building.  
  
"Keep it moving, Detweiller..." Finster's voice reverberated eerily, following young Theodore as he crept stealthily down the empty corridors of the school interior.  
  
Hmm. Late again. He turned, facing the imposing Finster with his most charismatically boyish grin, even as he caught the dangerous glint in her predatory eyes and knew perfectly well that he was playing with fire. "Yes, Ma'am," he said, snapping off a salute. "Anything you say. Your wish is my command." Jumping out of striking range, he went on, "And, may I say, Ma'am, you look especially frightening today. Did you get your bunions scraped again?" With a well-timed snicker, he darted off, leaving Finster stunned into silence as he pelted towards the safety of Miss Grotke's classroom.  
  
Grotke hadn't arrived yet, a fact that struck the Fourth-Grader with little surprise; she, like the rest of the school, it seemed, often arrived late on Friday mornings. The weekend at Third Street often came early, and TJ had learned from the four grades he had spent within its hallowed halls that with Fridays often came a lethargic coolness borne of anticipation for that end-of-week bell. In all his recollection, TJ could not recall ever completing any real work on a Friday.  
  
"Hey, Teej!" The sound of his close friend Vince LaSalle calling his name, caused the smile on TJ's face to widen. Vince too was grinning happily, clearly also well aware of the impending joys of the weekend, and as TJ moved to take his seat at the desk behind him, he caught a glimpse of his other close friends-Gus Griswold, Ashley Spinelli, Gretchen Grundler, and Michael "Mikey" Blumberg-each of whom wore identical smirks upon their expectant faces. TJ winked at them all in turn, unable to keep from laughing as Vince forced a mock-frown to taint his chilled features. "How come you're so late this morning? I mean, I know it's Friday and all, but even for a Friday, you're cuttin' it fine, man..."  
  
TJ shrugged, knowing that the mischievous glint in his eye was all too visible to his friends. "Oh," he said standoffishly, "I would've been here ages ago, but I had ta give Finster the ol' Friday Morning Detweiller Treatment." Snickering once again, he watched Vince and the others for their inevitable reactions; every Friday, he pulled some sort of verbal stunt on Finster, knowing that he'd be able to get away with it, and every Friday, his friends revelled in its comic results.  
  
"It ain't even morning Recess yet. You startin' the Treatment early, this week?" asked Spinelli, expression rapturous at the thought of trouble- making. Not even waiting for a response, she grinned widely, leaning across to slap him enthusiastically on the back. "Tender, Teej. Real tender."  
  
Leaning back against his chair, TJ offered a thumbs-up. "Well, y'know. Only got a few weeks of Fourth Grade left... figured we'd better start makin' the best of it before it's all gone and we're Fifth-Graders. You know, Lawson would never get away with giving Finster the Treatment." Snorting derisively, he put his feet on the desk. "Not that I'd ever compare *Lawson* to TJ Detweiller..." he added quickly, in response to Vince's look of disgust at the mention of his hated enemy.  
  
A collective chuckle erupted from the six friends, cut short in an instant by the sound of the door creaking open. Sweeping into the room, Miss Grotke smiled warmly at her class, expression as always, one of utmost benevolence. "Good morning, class. I trust we're all ready for another fun- filled day of learning Life's precious and valuables Lessons?" As ever, the cheerful flowers-and-butterflies type, TJ couldn't help notice that even Miss Grotke seemed over-enthusiastic this particular morning.  
  
The class, for the most part, didn't even bother muttering their assent to this usual chirpy greeting, merely grunted noncommittally, and returned their attention to discussing their weekend plans. TJ didn't even pause to acknowledge Miss Grotke's existence in the vicinity. "So you guys just wait 'till Recess. Man, then you'll see the Detweiller Treatment in all its glory."  
  
"Oh, most sacred of rituals!" cried Mikey, raising his hands in his usual poetic style. "Why, O Finster, must thou be tortured so, at the hands of your headstrong charges? Abhor us not, Oh mighty guardian of the playground, for we know not what we do!" This stated, he returned contentedly to his contemplative silence, unaware of the mind-blown stares offered him by TJ and the others.  
  
Spotting the murderous glare on Spinelli's face, coupled with the disdain creeping across Vince's features, TJ coughed discreetly. "Hey look! Miss Grotke's waiting to start. maybe we should keep quiet and let her teach, huh?" Under any normal circumstances, of course, TJ would have been the last to suggest his friends hush up and allow the morning's lessons to proceed, but he would sooner be forced to actually learn something than risk watching Spinelli and Vince double-team the unsuspecting gentle giant for his unknowing insult against the so-called Detweiller Treatment.  
  
With no small amount of reluctance, his friends directed their attention away from the puzzled Mikey, and focused upon the teacher standing before them, their impatient expressions perfect mirror-images of each other. Seeing the chatter beginning to slowly die down, Miss Grotke smiled warmly. "Now that the excitement of starting a brand new day of healthy education has died down... she began, as always misinterpreting--whether deliberately or not--the nature of the internal conversations taking place throughout the classroom. "...I have a very exciting announcement to make..."  
  
These simple words were enough to silence what lingering quiet discussions were still taking place, and cause the absolute focus of every student in the classroom to switch to their teacher. TJ frowned, eyes narrowing with characteristic suspicion as he struggled to read into the mysterious smile painted across the sprightly young woman's features as she paused for breath.  
  
"Now," she continued after a few moments. "As I'm sure you all know, the carefree childhood of the Fourth Grade is reaching an end. In less than a month's time, you will all be Fifth-Graders. You'll have all the rights, responsibilities, and privileges of being older and more experienced members of society." Yet another brief pause, coupled with a brief glance around the classroom was enough to inform her that she had lost the curiosity of her audience. Even TJ's rapturous interest was beginning to fade upon realising that the so-called 'announcement' was nothing more than a sugar-coated Responsibility Lecture. Shaking his head, he returned his attention to more important things... namely the concocting of plans so Tender that they could be basted in gravy and described as ultra-rare beef steak.  
  
Clearly aware of the fact that she was losing her audience, Miss Grotke forced her voice up a decibel or two. "Because of this up-taking of new responsibilities," she went on, smiling warmly at her charges. "You will be spending all of next week away from school--"  
  
TJ felt his head snapping upwards, even as he heard the low hum of murmurs circulating the cool room at this new revelation. Regarding his teacher with well-founded suspicion, he narrowed his eyes, hearing the premature cheers of his five best friends as they leaped to the same conclusion as the rest of the class; a conclusion that TJ was certain had a deeper meaning than its surface implication.  
  
"Students!" cried Miss Grotke, though the smile upon her face remained as bright as ever--clearly she had been expecting exactly this response from the class, and was rather pleased that her prediction of such early celebration had not been proved false. "Please... let me finish. As much as I know you all feel you deserve a week off, I'm afraid it's not quite that simple."  
  
Again, the class broke into an uproar of argumentative muttering; half the students were certain that Miss Grotke had lost her marbles, the other half thought this whole speech was some sort of cruel joke. As for TJ... well, he knew Miss Grotke well enough to have suspected some ulterior motive from the beginning, and so continued to listen with mild confusion as she went on. "Monday morning, you, and the rest of the Fourth Grade, will be transported to Velgon's Baudry, where you will spend the whole week learning to develop your powers of responsibility and independence." She paused, the class once again deathly silent. "Think of it as a week-long field trip. You will be away from school and away from your parents for an entire week... and, in this week, you will grow and mature alongside your classmates, preparing for the responsibilities of the Fifth Grade and learn the beauty of independent living."  
  
As she spoke, she was circling the room, placing small booklets in front of each student and offering them each a reassuring smile. "This is for your parents. It contains details of the activities we have planned for you, the purpose of the programme, and some background information about Velgon's Baudry. At the back, you should find a permission slip."  
  
There was some mild empathy touching her features as she continued her rounds, still addressing her class-none of whom, TJ realised, were paying any attention any more. "All students attending the field trip must have this slip signed by Monday. Any student without the appropriate paperwork will, unfortunately, be forced to remain at school, where they will sit in on Fifth-Grade classes as a taste of what will be expected of them next year. Feel free to read through the booklets yourselves before showing them to your parents." This said, and having given out the last pamphlet, she returned to the front of the class, waiting patiently for the chatter to die down once again.  
  
"This has got to be some kind of sick joke..." Vince was muttering, as he stared dumbly down at the sky-blue cover of the leaflet before him. "No way they'd drag us away from home for a whole week, just to teach us how to be 'responsible'. I'm plenty responsible!"  
  
"I hear ya, man." Spinelli agreed, holding her booklet up to the light as if trying to determine the best method of shredding it. "What're they gonna do, anyway? Show us the safest way of peelin' a potato?" She laughed coldly, Vince joining in with her bitter sarcasm and annoyance.  
  
For the first time since he had walked into the classroom, TJ heard the familiar voice of Gretchen Grundler speaking up. "I don't know, guys..." she said slowly, studying her own pamphlet. "The logic behind the idea is actually perfectly sound. We are growing up very quickly, and TJ himself stated that Fifth-Graders hold far greater levels of responsibility than us Fourth-Graders. I believe this excursion is going to be a great learning experience for our entire Grade, and I for one look forward to this unique opportunity to grow and develop in both mind and character."  
  
Mikey nodded in acute agreement. "Oh, I agree, Gretchen! Verily, this shall indeed be the greatest of experiences! Imagine, learning together of the subtle nuances of life. developing alongside each other those necessary traits that will mould our impressionable young minds into the stuff needed to survive in a cruel world fraught with painful responsibility and necessary independence..."  
  
"Unique opportunity? The greatest of experiences?" Spinelli repeated, face awash with disgust. "You guys are pathetic. This is just gonna be another stupid waste-of-time field trip like all the others, only longer. Face facts, you're livin' in a dream world."  
  
"What do you think, TJ?" asked Gus, his quiet voice carrying somehow over the increasing volume of his friends' heated arguments, even as his small eyes pierced TJ's own.  
  
TJ shrugged; truth be told, he didn't know what to think. His rational mind demanded that he side with Vince and Spinelli--the last Third Street field trip he could recall had been exactly that: a field trip. He and his companions had spent the entire day sitting in the middle of an open field and working on repairing a broken-down bus while Miss Grotke had attempted to console a distraught bus driver. But then, even as he thought back to this, his other side kicked in, reminding him of all the fun they'd had that day. and all the hard work they had put into fixing Old Smokey.  
  
"I dunno, Gus..." he said thoughtfully, still mulling over the possibilities. "I guess it could be fun. And we'll all be together, so it can't be too bad... right?" Ok, so this decision was far more borne out of a desire to silence the arguments that were being thrown to and fro between his friends, but still. certainly, he'd never have said something he didn't believe in, and even as he thought about it, infinite ideas for pranks and other havoc that he and his friends could cause at Velgon's Baudry.  
  
Overhearing his words, Miss Grotke grinned. "That's the spirit, TJ! Safety in numbers! Think of it as an experience in teamwork and friendship..." She paused almost imperceptibly, now facing not only TJ and his friends, but the whole class. "But now that we've discussed the important issues, I'm afraid we must now return to more mundane tasks. If you'd all open your textbooks to Page 74, we can continue our fascinating journey through the life cycle of a bee..."  
  
Within ten seconds of the lesson's induction, the class had already ceased paying attention. Some chose to focus their attention elsewhere--gazing out of the window, daydreaming, falling asleep--while others chatted quietly in their unseen private corners, and still more concentrated on personal projects--random sketching on notebook covers, writing down song lyrics... or, in TJ's case, scribbling down of the latest Tender Plans that wormed their way casually into his carefully-plotting mind.  
  
*  
  
"Ok, guys. Here's the Plan..."  
  
Recess at last, and TJ and his friends could be found huddled inside the Cheese Box, exchanging banter and, more importantly, plans for mischief regarding the upcoming would-be field trip. TJ sat in the centre, the others kneeling in a circle around him, their postures almost religious as they listened attentively to his every word. Slightly removed from the other five, Mikey struggled to concentrate upon TJ's words, even as his mind wandered restlessly, filled with images of poetry and chocolate.  
  
"Vince, you bring the stink-bombs. Spinelli, water-balloons. Gretch, I want you to find out as much stuff about this Baulgon's Vedry place as you can... so we know what to expect, and how to go about pulling the best pranks Third Street School has ever seen." He waited for a nod of affirmation from each of his addressed targets, then continued, "Mikey, you're on food. Who knows what kind of slop they're gonna be feeding us out there? Your task is to make sure that, no matter what they try an' force down our throats, we'll have a stash of Winger Dingers waitin' for us. Ok, big fella?"  
  
In the deafening silence that followed, Mikey smiled, leaning forwards slightly; finally, he had discovered the perfect rhyme for 'tactile' and he just couldn't wait to get back into class to put onto paper the nature of this new enlightenment. It was nearly a full minute before he realised that his name was being called, and he jumped nervously to attention at the somewhat irritated sound of TJ's voice.  
  
"Huh!? Oh... sure, TJ. Don't worry about a thing..."  
  
Rolling his eyes slightly, the group's leader nodded, addressing them all once again. "Right. Everyone got their assignments? Good." This last was uttered without even pausing for a response from his comrades. "Whatever Prickly and Finster have planned for us, we're gonna be ready for 'em! Pranks, Winger Dingers, and no school for a week... Man, this field trip is gonna be so Tender!"  
  
"Not necessarily, TJ..."  
  
All eyes turned to Gretchen as she shook her head, expression sombre as she regarded TJ with critical dispute. "What you talkin' about, Gretch?" demanded the red-capped group leader. "How could it possibly be anything *but* totally cool? Think about it for a minute, would ya?"  
  
"I *am* thinking about it," she said curtly. "Perhaps you ought to do the same. An entire week away from home. I don't know about the rest of you guys, but I certainly have never spent this long a time without the company of my parents." She stopped, allowing the others to realise the implication of what she was saying as she regarded each of her friends in turn, watching their expressions flicker from mischievous contentment to restless unease.  
  
"She's right!" yelled Gus, already beginning to panic, even as Mikey felt his own heart begin to flutter with discomfort. "I've never spent more than one night away from home! Oh, this is a disaster! I'm too young to be taken away from home for a whole week! I won't go, I tell you!"  
  
Lunging forwards, Spinelli took the trembling boy by his shoulders and began shaking him roughly. "Get a hold of yourself, willya? It's only a week! You're actin' like they ain't never gonna bring us back! Man, you wimps really need to dry up. I can't wait to get free from my parents for a week! Jus' wish it was longer." Smirking courageously, she grudgingly released the helpless Gus, turning to regard TJ and the others with a grin that suggested they *better* not argue.  
  
"You said it, Spin!" cried Vince, flexing his muscles as he attempted to couple Spinelli's bravery with his own. "This is gonna be Sweet! A whole week of total freedom!"  
  
Even TJ was looking a little uneasy now, however, and it was clear that Gretchen's observation had made its point nicely; looking around , Mikey couldn't deny that he was rather relieved to discover that he was not alone in his unease this time. He had always been something of a wet cloth, preferring to stay home in the company of his parents than almost anywhere else--except Kelso's, of course--and the thought of having to spend an entire week away from home struck him as highly unnerving. Not that he would ever let his friends see it, of course...  
  
"Uh... yeah!" TJ cried after a few moments, though his voice lacked the wild enthusiasm it had previously carried. "You're right. See, Gretch, we got nothin' to worry about! I'm tellin' ya, this is gonna be a blast. Who needs our parents when we got each other, anyway? Right, guys?"  
  
A mumbled assent from all directions followed this, and, despite his continued unease at the suddenly-looming promise of a week spent alone, Mikey added his own optimism to the group's happiness; far be it from him to offer anything short of delighted poetry and peaceful pleasantries to a conversation. "Yes indeed. A wonderful time shall be had by all. Fun and games and learning abound in this upcoming week of excitement and enjoyment."  
  
"That's what *you* think..." muttered a dark voice, emanating from outside the quiet sanctuary. The group spun full circle, expressions confused as they struggled to place the tone.  
  
"Butch?" asked TJ, a little nervously.  
  
The familiar white-streaked head of the Fourth Grade storyteller peeked in through a particularly large hole in the Cheese Box, a typically malicious grin tugging at the corner of his lips. "The one and only. Now, I hear you guys talkin' about how great this little trip is gonna be... how much fun you're gonna have away from home an' without yer parents tellin' ya what to do. But you're wrong... it ain't gonna be fun. It ain't gonna be great." He shuddered lightly, though Mikey guessed that this gesture was more for dramatic effect than out of any genuine reaction to some extraneous variable.  
  
Gretchen smirked slightly at this confirmation of her earlier statement, but the others sustained their sceptical frowns. "What crazy story did ya hear this time, Butch?" asked Vince, trying to keep the sardonic smirk from earlier upon his features.  
  
"Hear, nothin'!" the storyteller retorted, his voice lowering somewhat to adopt its characteristic secretive accent. "You ever heard of Mary Chewitt?" He didn't even wait for a response before leaning ever closer, eyes bulging. "She went on The Trip two years back, when she was in the Fourth Grade. Lookin' forward to it too, just like you guys. What better place to spend a week than th' middle of nowhere wit' yer best friends? But somethin' happened. Kids all got back safe an' sound a week later... only Mary weren't with 'em." He took a harsh breath, eyes raking furiously across the assembled group. "Some say she got so homesick that they had no choice but to call her parents and have 'em come all that way an' pick her up... say it was so embarrassing she could never face school again. Some say the stuff they put 'em through out there was so traumatic that she ended up scarred for life, unable to ever return to the hallowed halls of Third Street. And the rest... the rest are too horrified to even talk about it." His jaw worked tersely on the toothpick that, as always, was clenched tightly between his teeth.  
  
Mikey gulped. Perhaps he was gullible, perhaps simple; either way, he fell-- hook, line, and sinker--for this surreal, enigmatic story. "Oh, cruel Fate!" he cried, eyes irremovably focused upon Butch's fear-tainted features. "What unspeakable horrors does the next week hold for we, your mindless sheep? What terror will we be subjected to at your deadly hands?"  
  
"Oh, gimme a break!" muttered Spinelli, rolling her eyes and folding her arms as she leaned back against the far wall and fixed Butch with a steely glare. "That's a load of froopin' hooey, an' you know it. Go find some Kindergartners to scare with those kiddie-stories of yours, cos they don't wash with us." Looking back to her friends, she saw the nervous discomfiture that still touched their features. "Come on! Don't tell me you actually believe him! Everythin' he ever says is total bull."  
  
"Is it?" Butch demanded darkly.  
  
"I must confess, Spinelli," Gretchen commented quietly. "Much of his story makes sense, and the logic behind it is most certainly valid..." She frowned, clearly contemplating.  
  
Vince threw up his arms in disgust. "I can't believe you're chickening out!" he cried. "You were the one who was all for this stupid thing in class."  
  
"Yes," she admitted, straightening her glasses as she switched the focus of her attention to him. "But I have had the time to consider the facts since then, and, having actually read the booklet that Miss Grotke gave me, I find myself forced to question the motives of our kind-hearted teacher." She paused. "I'm not saying it *won't* be a great learning experience, of course... only that we must take into consideration all of the facts... and prepare ourselves accordingly for the worst outcome."  
  
Butch was smirking. "Well, I don't know about you, but I'm gonna beg my parents not to sign that slip. a week sittin' at the back of a Fifth-Grade class has gotta be easier than whatever they've got planned for us out there..." He shivered once, then retreated back into his shadows, much to Mikey's relief--and, it seemed, the relief of his friends as well.  
  
Silence ensued, heavy in the aftermath to this tense conversation. Looking back, Mikey supposed he really should have expected such a response to the intrusion; reluctant as he was to speak ill of people, he could not remember a confrontation with Butch that had ended with whatever topic was broached being viewed in a positive light. The skunk-haired boy's tall tales just had *that* effect on impressionable young minds... which, of course, was bad news for the minds in question.  
  
Thankfully, the small gang being as diverse and prone to digression as it was, the uncomfortable silence lasted only a handful of seconds, broken, as usual, by a well-timed explosion from Spinelli. "I don't believe you guys!" she yelled, shaking her head. "Hear a couple of creepy stories and suddenly you're cryin' like a bunch of babies. Well, do what ya want. *I'm* going on that trip, and *I'm* gonna have a great time, with or without the rest of you chickens!"  
  
Having finished, she climbed to her feet and crawled through the largest hole in the Cheese Box, storming back towards the familiar school building and muttering savagely under her breath, all the while glancing over her shoulder. Mikey shook his head as she left; he had spent enough time in her company to know that she would cool down soon enough, and doubtless be back to her normal high-spirited self before the start of mid-morning classes. He did not, however, expect to see the annoyed frown upon TJ Detweiller's face as he watched his friend disappearing onto the playground horizon.  
  
"There she goes again," he grumbled. "Jumping to conclusions." He looked back to his companions, trying ineffectually to mask his anger as he continued, "just cos we're bein' cautious don't mean we're not going, right guys?" This last was spoken as a challenge--a threat, almost--aimed directly at anyone who may have been considering secretly joining Butch.  
  
Vince nodded instantly, his cool expression clearly belying a hidden unease, as evidenced by the slightest crease about his forehead; Gretchen and Gus took a few more moments before swallowing their nerve and mumbling their assent in slightly quavering but otherwise decisive voices.  
  
Mikey waited the longest; more than anything, he wanted to feel safe, and the more he was thinking about this upcoming Trip, the more he realised how dangerous it promised to be. but how could he put this across to his friends, who were so certain that it would be nothing but fun and games, despite Butch's prophetic warnings? Sighing, and with no small amount of reluctance, he nodded as well, expressing once and for all his loyalty to his friends above all else.  
  
"Of course," he said, his voice scarcely above a whisper as he too pushed himself to his feet, eyeing the giant clock that ticked away the last few minutes of Recess with precarious inevitability. "A wonderful time shall be had by all." This weak reiteration of his earlier enthusiasm was met with a puzzled frown from TJ and similar uncertainty from the others. Averting his eyes quietly, he eyed the clock once again, seeking refuge. "But, for now... let us follow in plucky Spinelli's footsteps and return to class, lest we be tardy and, Heavens forbid, force our loving teacher to give us Late Marks..."  
  
*  
  
The rest of the day passed rather uneventfully for TJ and his friends, though conversation both inside and outside of the classroom seemed incessantly centred upon the upcoming trip. Looking at his friends as he sat in his designated seat in Miss Grotke's class--listening to her struggling to sustain the attention of her students with vivid and dramatic representations of the biological processes surrounding the life cycle of various insects--TJ couldn't blame them for zoning out.  
  
He had seen the uneasy concern in the faces of his closest companions upon hearing Butch's unbelievable tale, had felt the worry twisting around his own heart as he had realised the implications of spending an entire week away from the sanctuary of his home and family... but far more significant than any of that, he had watched the fury emblazoned across Spinelli's features, and the matching determination touching Vince's. They were unafraid, unconcerned by the solitude and loneliness that threatened the others; they, the most courageous of the group, and seeing their heroic reactions had steeled TJ's own mind. He would not allow them to show him up. He was the leader. He would be the bravest.  
  
Lunch was a subdued affair, finding the small group huddled around their usual table, munching quietly on their various sources of nourishment, and consciously struggling to keep from mentioning the trip that loomed so worryingly upon the horizon. They made small-talk, as usual--"did you see last night's episode of Beanie McChimp?" "Man, I can't wait till next month's ultra-Limited Edition issue of Señor Fusion!" and similar such nonsense--but it was clear from even a moment's glance at any one of his friends, that their minds were all on one thing. one pivotal event.  
  
None of them seemed willing to broach the subject, and TJ himself couldn't blame them; the last thing he wanted was an argument like the 'discussion' at Recess had threatened to become. Certainly, the peace and quiet that they had become comfortable with, was far safer an aim than the malcontent that had formed between them that Recess. What would come, TJ decided, would come irregardless of his--or, indeed, any of their--opinion on the subject, so why waste time arguing about it?  
  
Still, knowing this as he did, TJ nonetheless could not deny the relief he felt as that final bell rang at the end of the day, signifying the beginning of the weekend. He, and what seemed to be the rest of the class, exhaled collectively and pushed their chairs back with the intention of climbing to their feet and escaping the prisons of the classroom for a who two days; however, before TJ had even completed the act of standing, he was being commanded back into his seat by a smiling Miss Grotke. "Just a moment please, students," she said, waiting patiently for them to return to their seats, each child muttering blasphemous complaints as he or she sank back into their chair.  
  
"Now, now... I won't take up more than a minute of your precious weekend," she assured them, all the while smiling with disgusting cheerfulness. "All students attending the field trip to Velgon's Baudry will be expected to be packed and ready to go, and waiting outside the front of school by 6:30 sharp, Monday morning. There's a list of the stuff you need to bring in the leaflet I gave you, as well as an itinerary of the week's events for your parents reference. Study the booklet over the weekend so that you're happy and prepared on Monday morning." She paused, still smiling and apparently unaware of the scowls upon her students' faces as she continued with scarcely a moment for breath.  
  
"You'll be supervised on this trip by myself, of course, and your favourite other member of staff. the one and only Miss Finster." A jolt of shock rippled through the silent classroom at this revelation; glancing to his companions, TJ even saw a flicker of doubt crossing Spinelli's face, and Vince looked nothing short of sickened by this turn of events, even as Miss Grotke broke the stunned silence once again, her smooth, casual voice cutting through the air. "Dismissed. Have a great weekend."  
  
*  
  
"Finster?" Having finally been freed from the confines of school for the weekend, TJ and his friends were far from contented as they made their way towards their respective homes; their unanimous malcontent was expressed most clearly in the horror so beautifully portrayed in the voice of young Gus Griswold as he spoke aloud the fear that rolled through each of their hearts. "Finster!?"  
  
"I told you!" Gretchen stated blankly. "This trip is doomed to be a disaster. We may as well give up right now and surrender to the inevitable fact that we will remain worthless Fourth-Graders for the rest of our insignificant lives." Nodding sagely, and pausing to grace each of her companions with a steely gaze so reminiscent of Finster herself, she lapsed into silence.  
  
Gus quivered for a moment; of course Gretchen was right. Gretchen was *always* right! Why had he been inspired, even for a moment, to doubt her supreme knowledge? "I don't know about you guys," he said, voice scarcely above a whisper--as it always was when he found himself forced to speak out among his peers. "But I'm gonna do just what Butch said to do. No way this little Private is going on that trip! No, Sir!" This stated, he happily allowed himself to shut up once again.  
  
TJ opened his mouth to speak, and Gus was certain from the uneasiness upon his features that he was about to side with he and Gretchen, but before he had the chance to utter a single word, the calm voice of Reason--also known as Mikey--interposed. "Friends, it matters not. We should leave each other now in good spirits... do not let the promise of tomorrow force us to argue." He smiled. "We must part ways shortly, returning to our homesteads. Let us do so cheerfully."  
  
"Uh, yeah... what Mikey said..." TJ said quickly, offering the big guy a grateful smile. "Let's just go home an' have fun over the weekend. Whatever's gonna happen next week don't matter yet, so quit thinkin' about it. I'll call you guys over the weekend." Even as he spoke he was crossing the road to make his way towards his own abode. "But, whatever ya do, don't worry about it."  
  
He was long out of earshot before any of the others could think of a reply; from a growing distance, Gus watched as the leader of the small group disappeared against the horizon, and waited for his other companions to do the same. With scarce moments between each departure, they wandered their separate ways one by one, each bidding the others farewells of varying mood. It was less than a full minute before Gus was left alone.  
  
Making his own way home, the smallest member of the little gang could not deny feeling a little torn in his perception of the upcoming field trip. True, it sounded like fun--a whole week in the company of his five closest friends, away from his father's militarily-run household, and essentially free for the first time in as long as he could recall. But, despite this knowledge, a small part of him was screaming, demanding that he think about it from Gretchen's side for just one moment.  
  
He recalled vaguely his last experience of independence; overhearing a conversation between his parents, he had fallen under the misconception that the Griswolds would be moving yet again, and had run away from home, seeking to build his very own "bachelor pad" beneath the Jungle Gym. The idea had been perfect, and had worked well. until nightfall.  
  
'Ok, so you're afraid of being left on your own at night...' he thought, shaking his head as he approached his home. 'That doesn't mean you won't have fun on this trip, right? I mean, TJ and the others will be there. They'll protect you...' Still, even with this reassurance firmly planted within his mind, he couldn't help but wish with ever fibre of his being that his father would refuse to grant him permission to take part in this obviously doomed excursion. 'Maybe if I cry like a baby, he'll let me stay...'  
  
Confident in this course of action, Gustav Patton Griswold pushed open the front door to his home and, leaflet firmly clasped in his sweaty hands, approached his father's War Room. He gulped, waiting patiently for the Lieutenant to grant him permission to enter, in response to his son's tentative knock, the sound of which resounded noisily through the deserted hallway.  
  
Lieutenant Griswold looked up from the enormous map placed strategically upon the hardwood desk in front of him, to regard his son with a warm smile. "Good evening, Private," he said curtly, snapping off a brisk salute, which Gus nervously mimicked. "How was your day in the barracks?"  
  
"Umm..." Gus swallowed nervously, holding out the pamphlet with trembling hands; he would have felt far more comfortable had the leaflet contained details of some criminal offence that he stood accused of committing. "It went very well, Sir. I got a B on that geography test... and... umm... Miss Grotke wants me to give you this." He paused, placing the booklet on the very edge of the desk, hoping that it would slide off the edge and conveniently land in the paper-shredder. "It's about some field trip we're supposed to be going on next week. I don't really think I should--"  
  
"A field trip?" Lieutenant Griswold repeated, eyes gleaming with excitement as he reached out to grab the pamphlet. "Excellent, Private! Real life experience! That's what builds character! Learning how to respond to hostile situations out in the field is what separates the men from the boys! I know you'll make me proud, son..." This last was uttered with a single loving gaze into the eyes of his cowardly boy; Gus returned the look with tears shining in his own eyes. "You *are* going, aren't you?"  
  
Gus sighed; he really should have known better than to show the leaflet to his father first. Why hadn't he approached his mother? The Lieutenant would never go against the whims of his wife, and Gus knew that all he'd need to do was turn on the waterworks to convince Mrs Griswold that this trip was not meant for wet weeds like him. But no! He'd gone and done the honest thing and shown his father. When would he ever learn? "Of course, dad..." he mumbled with unconcealed misery, before realising a moment too late what he had just said. "Uh... I mean... Yes, Sir..."  
  
"There's a good soldier!" Lieutenant Griswold exploded, his booming voice echoing painfully in response to the boy's own plaintive whimper. "Rise to the challenge, Private! Go out there and show them what you're made of!" Even as he spoke, he was reading through the leaflet with rapturous joy upon his face, and seeing this delighted expression, Gus knew that his cause was lost.  
  
Perhaps he should have argued... perhaps he should have done as his father instructed him to do on so many occasions. Perhaps he should have stood his ground and held his own against the enemy that stood before him and strove to force him into undertaking a challenge that he knew he would never be able to confront. But, with all these 'should have's, there remained one single underlying fact, making each and every possible course of action obsolete. He was just a kid... and a cowardly kid, at that. He couldn't stand up to his military father any more than he could stand up to the school bully. Gus Griswold knew exactly what he was, and he was *not* a "good soldier".  
  
"I'll do my best, Sir," he heard his own voice murmuring, even as he struggled to keep the uncertainty and discomfiture from touching his features as he gazed in wide-eyed awe at the one man that he would have happily given his own life away for. the sole entity for whom the lowly Private would sell his soul if it would only make this celestial, heroic father-figure proud. "I'll do my best."  
  
* TBC. 


	2. Chapter Two

See Chapter One for Disclaimers. Or, if you have a really good memory and/or don't care about legal technicalities, then just keep reading. Many many thanks to everyone who offered feedback for the first chapter, hope the second is met with an equal amount of enthusiasm.  
  
  
  
  
  
Trial By Responsibility  
  
*  
  
Chapter Two  
  
"Theodore J. Detweiller!" The piercing shrill of his mother's voice broke into TJ's thoughts, wrenching him out of a pleasant dream and forcing him to open his eyes and face the wan dawn sunlight. "You have ten minutes to get out of bed and ready for school. Move it, Mister!"  
  
"Lea' me 'lone..." he mumbled, still groggy from sleep and more than a little aggressive due to this rude awakening. "S'not even light out, go 'way..." Pulling the pillow over his head to block out any additional intrusion from the Queen of Sleep-Slaying, he closed his eyes once again; ok, so he was now hideously uncomfortable and couldn't breathe... but hey, at least it was quiet.  
  
For several blissful moments, it seemed like he was safe, drifting slowly back into the happy refuge known as sleep. Sighing contentedly, he tried to remember where exactly his dream had been interrupted. "Oh yeah... Señor Fusion leaps to the rescue, aided by his cute, and oh-so-heroic sidekick, TJ Detwei--HEY!" This last was uttered as a protest to his mother, who had chosen that moment to yank the pillow from her son's head, gazing down at him with mild reprimand.  
  
"Saving the world is going to have to wait, Señor TJ," she chided gently. "Eight minutes and counting. I want you dressed and ready for breakfast by 6AM sharp. No straggling."  
  
"But Mooooooooom--"  
  
"Now, Theodore," she said, scowling with mock-seriousness.  
  
TJ scowled as she left the room, and for a few precious moments, seriously considered crawling back into bed and forgetting the damned field trip... but the knowledge of what his parents would do if he was caught falling asleep again after specifically being told to get up struck him with a fear rivalled only by the thought of Miss Finster's sinister glare if he was late.  
  
"All right!" he cried, unable to mask his disgust as he carefully picked his most comfortable pair of jeans from the piles of clothing that littered the floor. He dressed with his usual carelessness, not even pausing to straighten the creases out of his tee-shirt, before plucking his beloved baseball cap from the bedside table and placing it upon his head with loving relish; the rest of his appearance meant nothing to him, but that hat... that hat was his identity, his most trusted friend, a *part* of him.  
  
Strolling into the kitchen, TJ masked a yawn. "Wha's fo' breakfast?" Tired as he was, he wouldn't have noticed if he was being fed dog-food, as he sat at the table and stared dumbly down at the enormous plate of food that his mother pushed in front of him.  
  
"Eat up," she said, lifting his cap to playfully muss his hair. "Chances are, you won't be getting real food for a week, so enjoy this breakfast while you can." She grinned, and even in his half-sleeping state, TJ raised his head to frown at her, a noncommittally puzzled grunt escaping his lips as he returned his focus to the delicious-looking cooked breakfast that sat on the table in front of him.  
  
The food was good, and, thinking back, TJ supposed that he should have figured out then that something what up; when did his mother ever fix him a proper cooked breakfast on a school-day? Was she really that worried about this upcoming field trip... and if she was, should he be that worried too? Shrugging it off, he yawned through a mouthful of toast, and pushed the plate away. "Thanks, Mom," he said, offering a weary smile. "Still don' see why I gotta go on this stupid thing..."  
  
"We've been through this," she said, rolling her eyes as she half-guided, half-yanked him out of his seat. "You're going on this 'stupid thing' because your teachers are right. You're not going to be in the Fourth Grade forever, and you need to learn how to be responsible. This is going to be a great experience for you and your little friends." She ignored her son's mutterings as she picked up his suitcase from where he had left it by the front door the night before after he had finally finished packing.  
  
TJ sat sulkily in the passenger seat as he waited for his mother to dump his suitcase and backpack into the trunk, and offered only a savage glare as she climbed into the driver's seat beside him, trying not to grin too widely as she started the engine. "You'll have a good time," she assured him, placing a tender kiss on his cheek before concentrating on the road. "I promise."  
  
"Yeah, yeah." he muttered sarcastically, before lapsing into a silence that endured the entire journey to school. True, he had played the part of the optimist for his friends, assuring them that they would have a good time and enjoy themselves, and that being away from home wouldn't matter as long as they were with each other... but looking back now, he had known even then that it was just a façade, an attempt by the group's leader to restore peace to their divided souls. Here, in the company of none but his mother, his true feelings showed through with perfect clarity: he was too young to fly solo!  
  
Arrival at the gates of Third Street forced upon TJ a renewed enthusiasm for that which simultaneously filled him with hopeful anticipation and unrivalled terror. The entire Fourth Grade, with but a handful of exceptions, stood uneasily beside various carryalls, suitcases, backpacks, and trunks. Every face--each one familiar in its own way to the unsuspecting Detweiller--bore a similar expression of discomfiture upon it... and it struck TJ as especially comforting to lay eyes upon Vince and Spinelli, both of whom looked just as uncomfortable as any other of the assembled students.  
  
"Hey guys!" he yelled, scarcely waiting until he had climbed out of the car. In the time it took for him to disentangle himself from his seatbelt and begin the dash towards where his five friends stood, he realised with no small amount of relief that for every child standing upon the blacktop, there was at least one adult; it seemed that his mother was not the only one wishing to see her son off.  
  
The irritation upon the combined faces of his companions was enough to suggest to TJ that, similarly, he was not alone in his reluctance to accept his parents' decision to ensure his participation in this accursed field trip. "Hey guys," he repeated, forcing a streetwise grin as he strolled with feigned casualness into the centre of the group circle. "Guess your folks wouldn't let ya back out, either, huh?" There. He'd said it; finally, he had admitted that he, the great TJ Detweiller, was afraid.  
  
"Nope," Gus said, striving for self-confidence even as he nervously eyed his father's tall form--which stood out even among the countless other parents standing and chatting a short distance away, waiting to bid their children a fond farewell. "It's going to be a great learning experience, and it's gonna build character, and... and... and stuff!" The slight tremor in his voice spoke volumes about his opinion on the matter, and TJ smiled in spite of himself as he watched his friend raise his chin and force a grin.  
  
Gretchen nodded sombrely. "My parents too thought that it would be a valuable educational pursuit that begs my participation," she admitted, and there was no questioning the contempt in her voice. "Though I must confess, I would sooner have spent the time in the company of the Fifth-Graders, seeking to better my real education." Masking a weary yawn, she dismissed the issue.  
  
Nodding--and finding himself mimicking Gretchen's yawn as he suddenly remembered how tired he was--TJ lowered himself to the ground, sitting unsteadily upon his suitcase. He could only imagine how terrible he looked, having received little sleep the night before, and been woken up before dawn, but it struck him as markedly amusing that he was not alone in his fatigue; Gretchen and Spinelli looked almost ready to fall asleep on the spot, and Mikey looked as though he already had fallen asleep. With the exception of Vince and Gus--both of whom, TJ supposed, were well- experienced in having to get up early--every single one of the assembled Fourth-Graders looked dead on their feet.  
  
With this reassuring realisation firmly planted in his mind, TJ struggled to avert his gaze from where his mother stood, standing out in his eyes among the seemingly countless other parents, as she too tried to keep from eyeing her son with obvious consternation. 'No!' he told himself, forcing his attention upon his friends as he felt his eyelids growing heavier. 'She's your mother. It's her job to worry. You're just a kid. Worrying is bad for you... so chill out. The sun's almost up and it's gonna be a nice sunny day, so try and relax, look forward to this trip, and just have fun!'  
  
"Attention, Fourth Grade..."  
  
TJ snapped sharply to attention at the familiar voice of Principal Peter Prickly as the tall moustachioed man stepped forwards--seemingly from out of nowhere--to address the assembled students. Sighing with relish of the aggravation held within the sound, the boy pushed himself to his feet by way of showing his respect for the authority figure that now spoke to he and his companions.  
  
"Annoying do-gooder PTA demanding we try and 'make something' out of these miscreants instead of just letting them do what they want and leaving the rest of us to get a full night's sleep for a change..." the Principal muttered under his breath, loudly enough to be heard by all assembled, before he caught himself and returned to full professionalism. "Ahem... greetings, Fourth Grade. Today, you begin the first week of the rest of your lives. You have many challenges ahead of you, most of which will test your responsibility to their very limits, and I expect you all to give 110% or more. Just because you're not at school does not mean that you won't be assessed for this."  
  
Pausing for a moment, he allowed his gaze to flick briefly to where the kids' parents stood together, still waiting to bid farewell to their offspring. "I trust your parents have lectured you thoroughly in the importance of this week," he continued after a moment, eyes piercing each and every parent as if to say 'you'd *better* have told the little worms', "and just remember this: bad grades reflect badly upon the entire school. I don't want you miscreants screwing up my chances of a promotio--" He broke off quickly, straightening his tie with obvious discomfiture, "Uh... I mean... I expect your performances on this trip to reflect your abilities. Get out there, do well, and don't mess up."  
  
Prickly waited politely for the chatter to die down before retreating covertly into the shadows from which he had ventured. TJ shook his head slightly, and looked to his friends, each of which were voicing their own opinions on the Principal's speech in increasingly loud tones.  
  
"Typical Prickly," muttered Vince, bouncing on the balls of his feet; TJ watched him through half-lidded eyes and wondered how he could be so perky at such an ungodly hour. "Cares about his rep more than the kids. They could put us through torture out there, and if we came back with less than perfect scores, it'd be all *our* fault for bein' lousy students."  
  
"I hear ya, man..." TJ heard himself mumbling through his forty-seventh yawn that morning. "But we're gonna spend a whole week away from him... so that's good..."  
  
Gretchen flopped down next to him; looking at the bags under her eyes, TJ realised that she was almost as exhausted as he was. Maybe *her* parents had decided to wake her an hour before they'd needed to as well... "I concur wholeheartedly," she said sleepily. "Despite my qualms about spending an extended period away from my parents, and my concerns regarding Butch's tale from Friday, I must admit that this field trip does posses that one perk, if nothing else."  
  
"All right, children, settle down..." This latter voice belonged to Miss Grotke, who had stepped forwards in the aftermath to Prickly's retreat, and stood now, quietly waiting to address her charges. "The bus will be arriving within a few minutes, so I would like you all to focus your Inner Peace, take a few deep and cleansing breaths, then form orderly lines by class." She offered the assembled students a characteristic warm smile, and began meandering between them in an attempt to help them organise themselves. TJ rolled his eyes and, with no small amount of reluctance, climbed to his feet.  
  
The sound of irate mumblings filled the air before Miss Grotke had even finished speaking. Shaking his head as he and his friends struggled to shift themselves into something resembling a line, TJ decided that she--and the rest of the teachers at Third Street whose brilliant idea this whole 'trip' had been--*really* should have known better than to expect the entire Fourth Grade to make sense of instructions given at 6:30am, having gotten little-to-no sleep the previous night.  
  
In forming the required queue, TJ and his group were forced to move the whole of ten feet to the left, a fact that struck the tired boy as markedly annoying, having stumbled numbly to his feet only to discover that the microscopic distance he needed to move was not even worth acknowledging. Yep, this trip was off to a flying start, and TJ couldn't quite keep silent the harsh "Man, this whomps!" that escaped his lips--incidentally at exactly the same moment as Miss Grotke paused a few feet away.  
  
"Is there a problem?" she asked, turning away from where she had been helping Jimmy The Guru Kid with his over-stuffed suitcase, and moving to approach TJ and his friends, an expression of mild concern tainting her features as her eyes wandered between them.  
  
TJ snapped to attention. "No, Miss Grotke," he said. "No problems here." He mustered a weary smile in her general direction, though he knew from the slightly puzzled frown that touched her expression, that she was not fooled by it. "We're just lookin' forward this this excitin' trip, is all." He nodded with perfectly-feigned enthusiasm, even as he covertly nudged his friends and forced to his lips the most charismatic smile imaginable. "Can't wait to start this great learning experience..."  
  
"Oh *yeah*," muttered Spinelli, not even trying to mask the sarcasm in her voice and expression. "Nothin' beats spendin' a whole week learnin' how to peel pota--"  
  
She never had the chance to finish her sentence, as a sharp elbow from Vince cut off her words. "Yep. Can't wait. Fun, fun, fun. That's what we're gonna be havin' this week..."  
  
"What inspiring enthusiasm!" Grotke cried, features practically glowing with delight. "If only your friends and classmates were as willing to rise to the challenge as you people! I know I can count on you six, at least, to make this week a successful excursion!" This uttered, and reassured in confidence that TJ and his friends were perfectly settled, she left them alone once again.  
  
TJ breathed a sigh of relief. "Whew. Thought she'd be hanging around us for hours, tryin' to make us more 'comfortable' about leavin' home and all that junk. Nice cover, Vince." He exchanged a brief high-five with the athlete, before moving to sit back down upon his suitcase.  
  
His legs had scarcely begun to bend, however, before he was hauled to his feet *again* by the voice of a teacher demanding attention. This time it was none other than the epitome of evil herself... Miss Finster. Grumbling, TJ pushed himself into a slouch, and struggled to focus his attention upon the frightening form of The Finster as she took a breath and began to speak.  
  
*  
  
The resounding fingernails-on-chalkboard grind of Miss Finster's cold voice was Spinelli's cue to zone out completely. Pausing only to ask Gretchen to nudge her awake if, through some bizarre miracle, Finster's speech contained something worth hearing, she leaned against the nearest solid surface--namely Mikey Blumberg--and closed her eyes with the intention of catching a few minutes' sleep.  
  
Sleeping while standing up and simultaneously pretending to pay attention was a skill that her brother Joey had taught her during his last Bail, and in the time since, it had come in rather handy for situations like this. Tuning out the irritating whine, she allowed her mind to wander, and in that semiconscious haze, she dreamed of the week that lay ahead of her.  
  
The images that flashed through her sleep-deprived mind were terrifying, and in her mind's eye, Spinelli saw herself screaming in response to them, cowering before the sinister nature of the tasks that she was becoming ever more certain she and her companions would be forced to undertake. Not only peeling potatoes... but worse! Cooking, cleaning, embroidery, ironing clothes, making their own beds... The list was endless. Endless and horrible, and it was all she could do to keep from snapping her eyes open and howling her lungs out. "Responsibility? This ain't Responsibility! It's slave-labour!"  
  
Vince's elbow slamming into her ribs jolted her quickly back to reality, and as her eyelids flickered up, washing away the remnants of her, the sight that met her eyes was one so hideous as to make her forget instantly her quasi-nightmare. "Muh... Muh... Miss Finster!"  
  
The woman's sinister features floated before her field of vision, mere inches from her own face, and Spinelli recoiled nervously as Finster's voice broke into her thoughts. "Well, well. I should have known it'd be one of you *six* that started the hooliganism early. Slave labour, you say? Well then, Missy, just you wait till we arrive. I'll show you slave labour and *more*. Now get on the bus."  
  
"Uh... yes Ma'am..." Spinelli mumbled, straightening up and hefting her suitcase obediently. Narrowing her eyes suspiciously, Finster nodded curtly and grudgingly left the six of them alone. "Dammit, Teej! Why didn't one of you guys *warn* me I was yellin' out loud?"  
  
TJ grinned a little sheepishly. "Well... uh..." He glanced briefly to the others for some sort of support, and received only indifferent shrugs in response; shaking his head in disgust, he dismissed the issue with a well- timed change of subject. "Hey, Finster told us to get on the bus... don't wanna get in trouble twice in less than five minutes, do we? At least, not b'fore we get there." Using this as the perfect way of dodging her question, he grabbed his own case and made a dash for the bus.  
  
Not wanting to be left alone with an aggravated Spinelli, the others quickly followed TJ's example, and, muttering violent expletives under her breath, she moved to catch up with them, lugging her suitcase impatiently behind her. "They can run, but they ain't gonna be able ta hide," she fumed to herself, in between curses. "I'll get 'em while they're sleepin'..."  
  
Tossing her suitcase carelessly into the little luggage compartment underneath the hideous yellow bus, Spinelli paused to shake off the remnants of her lingering grogginess, before moving to join the queue that stood waiting to board. Waiting to sign their lives away to a week of glorified Home Economics... or so she thought. "When did the heap o'junk show up anyway?" she asked Mikey--who happened to be in front of her in the queue. "While Finster was talkin'? I didn't see it get here."  
  
Mikey nodded, and was about to articulate a crudely poetic response, when the line shifted, allowing the two of them to climb on board; Spinelli paused only to thank her lucky stars that at least *one* thing was going her way this morning--if she was going to be exposed to Death by Housework, at least she'd be able to do it without hearing another one of those stupid poems.  
  
Spotting the others already taking their seats towards the back of the bus, Spinelli and Mikey fought their way through a mass of loitering Fourth- Graders to rejoin them. Muttering as she sank into a seat beside Gretchen, Spinelli watched Mikey slide into the seat in front, next to Gus and across from where TJ and Vince had already gotten a head-start in their 'background reading' for the upcoming field trip--namely, that most informative and useful of reference texts, "Señor Fusion On Vacation".  
  
"So how long we gonna be stuck on this gravy train, Gretch?" Spinelli asked, looking to the lanky genuis, who stifled yet another a yawn as she quickly calculated.  
  
"Well," Gretchen said, speaking almost to herself as she calculated seemingly random numbers on her fingers at the speed of light. "According to the research I undertook over the weekend, Velgon's Baudry is approximately 200 miles away from here. Given that the bus should be capable of averaging fifty miles per hour for almost the entire journey, I would estimate that we shou--"  
  
"Spit it out, will ya?" snapped Spinelli. "Great whompin' Bobula! It'll take the whole journey just ta hear the answer." She shook her head in acute disgust. "How long?"  
  
"I would estimate," Gretchen repeated impatiently, "that we should arrive within four hours." She paused, trying not to smirk too obviously at the other girl's horrified expression. "Provided we don't hit traffic... and, of course, assuming that we don't take more than one *short* rest-stop."  
  
Overhearing the conversation, TJ and Vince glanced across from their respite. "You're kiddin', Gretch," the capped boy asked, eyes pleading with her to say that she was. "Five *hours*? I can't even sit in a car for five *minutes* without getting' bored!" Turning away briefly, he began rhythmically slamming his head against the window. "I'll go crazy... *crazy* I tell you!"  
  
"Calm down, TJ," Gretchen replied coolly. "By setting out at 6AM, I believe the plan is that we spend the bulk of the journey sleeping, so as to be refreshed when we arrive, and--"  
  
The hiss of the bus doors closing noisily cut off any continuation that Gretchen may have attempted, and as all eyes moved to the front of the vehicle as the last person to step up-- Miss Grotke--paused, cleared her throat, and spoke once again. "All right, students!" she chirped as the engine of the bus began to rev, even as the 'students' in question appeared far more interested in the act of waving out the windows to their parents. "Once we're on our way, I'm going to be passing around a list of all your names. The list is divided into groups. These are your work groups. You will share sleeping quarters with the others in your group, and all chores assigned to your group will be undertaken by the *whole* group. Teamwork is a part of good Karma, you know, and so is learning to work with people you might not usually get along with..." She paused for a moment, and Spinelli was certain she was looking directly at *her* as she went on, "so no complaining about who you're teamed up with."  
  
'Oh boy,' the tough girl thought to herself, even as she refused to offer her parents the slightest wave as the bus began to move off. 'She's probably got me teamed up with Kurst the Worst or one of the Ashleys or somethin'...' Even as the thought entered her mind, she shook it off; knowing Grotke's tendency to be kind and empathic, she doubted anything so cruel, and she was certain that--at the very least--she would be grouped with Gretchen, if not with the boys from the gang as well.  
  
"No complaining," Grotke was murmuring to various students as she made her way down the bus towards them, bearing their fate for the week in her hands. "No, Randall, I can't put you in another group. Don't look so miserable, Laura, it's not the end of the world... Ah, my intrepid team of enthusiasts!" This latter was aimed at TJ and his group as she paused before them, handing them each a slip of paper with names grouped selectively on either side. "I hope you find your group designations to your liking... and don't forget: *No Complaining*!" This uttered, she moved swiftly along.  
  
The six of them perused their sheets in silence for a few long minutes, gazing down at the neatly-printed names in front of them--the names that determined exactly who and where they would spend the entire week. Mikey spoke first, voice--as always--filled with dramatic song. "Oh joy and rapture!" he chanted, arms outstretched. "Noble TJ, we have been chosen to be team-mates!"  
  
"Yeah," TJ muttered, looking far less content, "but look who *else* we got stuck with." He thrust the paper beneath the poet's nose. "Randall. The Snitch! So much for having fun and hatchin' Tender plans. Man, this Whomps!" He sighed, looking over the list again.  
  
"You guys got the Guru Kid too!" Gus piped up enthusiastically, "and Butch! So you can be sure of getting' some great scary bedtime stories!" He paused, frowning slightly. "Hey! I thought Butch said he was gonna try and get out of going on this trip, cos of all that Mary Chewitt stuff!"  
  
TJ shrugged, clearly still annoyed about being grouped with Randall 'the snitch' Weems. "Guess his folks forced him to. Who did you get stuck with?"  
  
"Gus an' me gotcha covered," Vince said with a triumphant smirk. "You may be stuck with the Snitch, but we got *Menlo*, Phil the do-gooder Scout AND that know-it-all Digger Dave. At least Butch is cool! Man, this is gonna be the worst week *ever*. Gretch, Spin? Who'd you guys get?"  
  
Spinelli didn't answer; in fact, she was scarcely even aware that the others were there. Her mind was blank, her expression void of emotion. The words printed in front of her seemed to leap out of the page, screaming words in some incomprehensible alien language. Gretchen's voice broke into her thoughts, but try as she might, she couldn't pull free from the tidal wave that threatened to inundate her as she strove to hear the words escaping her friend's lips.  
  
"Unlike you boys, Spinelli and I were not grouped together. I believe I have both of your groups beaten for bad luck... I have been teamed-up, not only with Kurst the proverbial Worst... but also with Third Street's other Fourth Grade bully... Sue-Bob Murphy." A collective shudder ran through the group at the misfortune that had befallen the genius. "However, I am also fortunate enough to be grouped with the Swinger Kid, and Upside-Down-Girl, whom I have bonded with over the year..."  
  
TJ nodded. "That's great, Gretch. Looks like Grotke got it right... OK, so we've all got our little problems we're gonna have to take care of... but at least we've all got someone cool to hang around with as well. This ain't gonna be so bad. Who'd you get, Spinelli?"  
  
"Muh... guh... nuh..." Hard as she tried, the words simply would not form upon her lips, even as she felt the eyes of all five of her companions focusing upon her. "Guh... guuuuuuh..."  
  
Gretchen leaned over her shoulder, squinting through her glasses at the small print that marched across the paper hanging limp in Spinelli's cold hand. "I believe what she is trying to say," she explained quietly, voice filled with nothing but a sympathy that Spinelli neither wanted nor needed, "that she has been put into a group with the Ashleys." She paused. "All four of them."  
  
The others went deathly silent for about two seconds, before erupting into simultaneous speech; Vince and TJ attempting to offer a 'bright side' to her predicament--"At least you'll be able to put spiders into their make-up kits without any problems"--while the rest offered nothing but condolences. Returning sharply to her senses, Spinelli turned and glared furiously at all five of them.  
  
"Shove it!" she heard herself yelling. "Ya think I care? Those powder-puffs ain't gonna wreck this for me. An' I don't want you feelin' sorry for me, either. It ain't worth it." Muttering harshly, she sank back against her seat, and occupied her time by glaring sulkily out the window.  
  
Clearly hearing the word "denial" escaping Gretchen's lips, she somehow kept herself from responding. It didn't matter. She was gonna have a good time on this trip if it killed her! She was gonna be away from her parents for a week... she was *gonna* spend time with her friends... and she was not about to let the Ashleys, or nightmare images of Home Economics ruin that. No! She was Ashley Spinelli, and she always came out on top! Still, as she watched the old red-brick Third Street building disappearing against a dusty horizon, she couldn't help wishing--just for a moment--that she was back there still. Back on the old familiar blacktop... in the old familiar classroom... Back where she was safe.  
  
* TBC. 


	3. Chapter Three

Blah, blah, blah. You know the drill. Disclaimers in Chapter One, countless thanks to everybody who has thus far offered feedback of any kind, apologies for taking so long to get this one up... etc, etc. On with the fic! Hope you enjoy.  
  
  
  
  
  
Trial By Responsibility  
  
*  
  
Chapter Three  
  
Glancing at her watch for what seemed to be the seven-thousandth time within the space of ten minutes, Gretchen sighed in acute aggravation; they had scarcely been travelling two hours, and--according to her calculations-- weren't even halfway towards their destination, despite the fact that it was already beginning to feel like they had been on the road for weeks. Shaking her head and struggling to remain sane, she allowed her gaze to wander to her companions, each of whom was engaged in some activity or another that made interaction rather impossible for the bored genius.  
  
TJ and Vince were engaged in a spirited debate regarding which edition of their favourite comic was more action-packed and exciting. Though the argument seemed truly intriguing, Gretchen knew very little of the comic in question, and so lacked the knowledge to join in with their discussion. Gus and Spinelli seemed intent on catching up the slumber they had lost the previous night. Both were sound-asleep, the former snoring gently, and the latter mumbling delirious death-threats at random inanimate objects. Mikey, still awake, yet uninvolved in the conversation taking place between Vince and TJ, was working quietly in his own corner on what Gretchen assumed to be a new poem of some sort; knowing the gentle giant as well as she did, she had no intention of disturbing his intense concentration.  
  
Of course, this solitude left her with something of a dilemma. Without any of her companions to engage in idle conversations with, Gretchen found herself with no company other than her own... and she had long since learned that her own company was neither pleasant nor enjoyable. Consequently, it was with some relief that she heard Miss Finster's cold voice cutting through the quiet discussions that were rippling from one end of the bus to the other, announcing that they would be taking a short rest- stop, so that the kids could stretch their legs, get something to eat, and generally replenish their faltering energy for the two and a half hours that remained of the seemingly endless journey.  
  
Trying to conceal her unequalled relief at this idea, Gretchen turned her focus out of the window, and watched with no small amount of contentment as the bus shuddered to a halt outside what appeared to be a combined gas station/shopping mall. "All right, you little hooligans," Finster muttered as the children climbed eagerly to their feet before the bus had completely stopped moving. "You have exactly half an hour. I expect every last one of you to be back here by 8:30 *sharp*. Any stragglers *will* be left behind. Is that clear?" One look at her wrinkled face told Gretchen that she was not kidding, and as the young genius paused to nudge Spinelli back to consciousness--hearing Mikey perform the same task upon Gus--she made a mental note, not to defy this particular Rule, no matter what.  
  
"Man... 'bout time they let us off this thing for a bit!" cried Vince as he and TJ moved to join the thronging crowd that raced to leave the bus for that precious half-hour. "Thought I was gonna go craze with cabin fever or something', not bein' able to stretch my legs."  
  
"How much longer are we to endure this torture?" wailed Mikey as the six of them stepped down onto the cool tarmac of the parking lot. "Are we to forever suffer the slings and arrows of imprisonment behind yellow-painted bars of steel plate? Must we face this agony for the rest of our pitiful lives until we sink into the abyss of insanity, never again to return to Realm of the Rational?"  
  
Gus yawned, rubbing his eyes drowsily as he struggled to focus his bleary eyes. "Could be worse, y'know, guys..." he said, ever the optimist. "When my family moved up here, we'd been on the road for three days straight before we even caught sight of civilisation." He shook his head slightly, apparently slipping into 'flashback' mode. "It was a road trip I'll never forget..."  
  
"Yeah, yeah..." muttered Spinelli. "I'm sure it's a great story, but we've only got half an hour here, and I ain't about to waste it listenin' to you yappin' about The Road Trip That Time Forgot." She rolled her eyes as the small group stepped into the main shopping mall. "Stand here and yak all you guys want. *I'm* hittin' the arcades. I got a wallet full o' change that's burnin' a hole in my pocket. Follow if you want, ya wimps." And with that, she sauntered off in the general direction of an enormous, bright- pink neon sign that advertised none too subtly, an expansive amusement arcade.  
  
TJ and Vince exchanged a glance for about three nanoseconds, before taking off in hot pursuit. Gretchen shook her head; video games had never been her forte, and she had no intention of wasting what scant precious money her parents had entrusted her with for the duration of the trip, on pointless computer graphics and cheap thrills. Clearly, Mikey and Gus shared her sentiments, as neither made any attempt to follow the others in the expensive endeavour.  
  
"Oh, look!" Mikey exclaimed before Gretchen even had the chance to wonder aloud where the other two would like to go for the duration of their stay. The rotund poet pointed with a quivering finger towards a particularly elaborate-looking café, the window of which was adorned with cakes and sweets that made even Gretchen's indifferent mind remind her of how hungry she was.  
  
"Sweets?" Gus asked, voice high with discomfort. "Before lunchtime? My dad would kill me if he thought I was eating sweets before lun--" He broke off, not having the time to finish as Mikey grabbed his arm with one hand-- taking Gretchen's with the other--and began sprinting towards the alluring shop; though she could understand Gus' concern, the young genius had no intention of allowing her qualms regarding her parents' responses to her actions, keep her from sampling the café's delicious bounty. Certainly, she was not about to let Mikey feel forced to dine alone.  
  
Protesting all the way, Gus nonetheless accepted a chocolate milkshake that Mikey sportingly offered to buy him, as he refused to partake of the enormous ice-cream sundae that his two companions shared. In truth, Gretchen was internally cringing at the thought of what her beloved parents would think if they realised that she had gone against all of their dietary teachings, but in this rare instance--and going with the assumption that they would be offered only the most meagre of food portions for the duration of the week-long trip--she decided that there would be no harm in indulging.  
  
"Well, I must observe," she heard herself murmuring through a mouthful of chocolate fudge, "that if the rules on this trip continue to be as lax as this, we shall indeed have a most enjoyable time." Pausing, she thought back to the other students she was forced to share a group with-- specifically, Kurst the Worst and Sue-Bob Murphy, neither of whom she had ever felt comfortable in the presence of. "Or perhaps," she added as an afterthought, "we will suffer most horribly."  
  
"Do not despair, dear Gretchen," Mikey said in what he clearly assumed to be a consolatory tone. "I am certain Miss Finster will do her best to keep all foul-play to a minimum. Indeed, I suspect it will be a most difficult task for our heroic leader to be forming his mischievous plans for wreaking havock... and likewise, I doubt plucky Spinelli will be able to put into practise her dreams of violence against the Ashleys." He smiled, the expression aimed directly at his sundae. "It will be peaceful."  
  
Gretchen and Gus looked at each other, and both shook their heads; as much as she would have liked to agree with Mikey's utopian vision, Gretchen was far too intelligent to expect, even for a moment, that things would pass smoothly. Deciding that the safest course of action would be to simply avoid passing comment upon Mikey's reassurance, she instead glanced at her watch. "Perhaps we should return to the bus," she stated quietly. "We wouldn't want to be late..."  
  
Swinging by the arcade, they met up with a smug TJ, a sulking Vince, and a furious Spinelli; as they made their way back to the bus as a single unit, Gretchen learned that TJ's discontentment rested in his being defeated at Space Invaders by the smirking Vince, and that Spinelli's excessive rage was borne from a chance meeting with Ashley A., who had made deadly threats of a makeover. Trying not to laugh too hard at the simple causes of her friends' distempers, Gretchen boarded the bus first.  
  
"Hey. Grundler." The origin of the rough voice wasn't difficult to determine, and as Gretchen turned, finding herself face-to-face with none other than Kurst the Worst, it took every ounce of effort she had not to break down into a babbling mass of jelly. "I hear we got stuck wit' *you* in our 'work group'," the bully went on, smirking dangerously. "Ain't that special..."  
  
TJ and Spinelli had already stepped forwards, forming an effective barrier between Kurst and Gretchen, for which the intelligent girl was eternally grateful, though somewhat uneasy at the knowledge that she would not be able to count on the safety of numbers once they arrived in Velgon's Baudry. "Get lost, Kurst," growled Spinelli, raising both fists. "You lay *one hand* on Gretchen an' you'll have *me* to deal with!" The fact that Kurst stood a full three heads taller than she didn't seem to strike Spinelli as cause for concern, though Gretchen herself was internally quivering with fear.  
  
"Oh yeah?" smirked the bully. "What are *you* gonna do about it, Short Stuff? Bite my knees?" Laughing, she flicked Spinelli's nose--only narrowly escaping a pummelling as TJ and Mikey struggled to hold back the livid hot- head, who was nearing an aggression overload--and returned her attention to Gretchen. "Jus' wait till we get there, Grundler," she said, a cruel grin playing at the edges of her lips. "We're gonna have all sorts of *fun*." This last was uttered with obvious malice.  
  
Mikey stepped forwards, hands still firmly clamped down on Spinelli's shoulders to keep her from leaping at Kurst with both fists blazing. "Don't do something you'll regret, Kurst..." he begged, voice filled with nothing but sympathy. "I'm sure you would not wish to hurt fair Gretchen--"  
  
"Shut it, Blumburger!" she replied. "I do what I wanna do. And if I wanna 'upset' your little genius when we get to this stupid place, then don't think you or your little friends are gonna stop me." This said, she turned and stomped away; glancing over her shoulder, Gretchen realised that this retreat had nothing to do with intimidation from her friends, but the sudden timely appearance of Miss Grotke and Miss Finster, who had chosen that moment to re-board the bus.  
  
Miss Grotke only needed glance at the faces of her 'star pupils' to see that something was not quite right, and her inherent empathy kicked in within moments. "My goodness. Why do my leading enthusiasts seem so downtrodden and distraught? Is something wrong, my enlightened cherubs?"  
  
"Not at all, Miss Grotke," sighed Gretchen. "Not at all."  
  
*  
  
As the bus revved its engines once again and crawled back onto the freeway, Mikey eased himself back into his seat, gazing dreamily out of the window and searching for poetic inspiration, even as he found his thoughts incessantly distracted by a rather loud conversation taking place between Spinelli and Gretchen. Not wanting to get personally involved in their 'disagreement', Mikey instead strove to focus his Inner Peace, and listen to the discussion from a safely dissociated distance.  
  
"Not at all? NOT AT ALL!?" That was Spinelli; even from three miles away, the gentle giant would have heard and recognised the tough girl's voice. "What are you saying? There *is* somethin' wrong, and you know it! Why can't you just 'fess up for once?"  
  
Mikey turned, watching in reserved silence as Gretchen sat lethargically, gazing up at her companion--who remained standing through the effects of anger that seemed to make it impossible for her to sit down. "If I thought it would do any good as a method of self-defence, I certainly would have," she said, her soft voice clashing painfully against Spinelli's yells. "However, being labelled a 'snitch' would hardly give Kurst reason to respect me. In fact, it would give her *more* reason to attack."  
  
"Yeah, but Grotke would've helped!" Spinelli shouted in response. "You'd've gotten some adult backup! By sittin' there and doin' nothin', you're lettin' Kurst *win*!"  
  
"She's right, Spin," Vince commented quietly. "Heck, if it'd been me, I'd've wanted to fight back too... but gettin' the teachers involved is never a good idea with stuff like this."  
  
"Fine!" snarled the hot-head, dropping angrily back into her seat by way of showing defeat; Mikey smiled at her willingness to accept that she had been proved wrong, despite knowing that this acceptance would come at a price... usually one spoken in a very loud voice. "But I ain't happy about watchin' my friend let herself get whupped by that loser, Kurst. An' if she goes anywhere *near* Gretchen on *my* watch, she's gonna be goin' home in lots of really small boxes..."  
  
"I appreciate the sentiment, Spinelli," Gretchen replied, shaking her head slightly, "but I doubt your... protection... will be necessary. I'm sure I will be able to handle Kurst myself."  
  
After another brief round of expletives, Spinelli relinquished and forced herself into silence; breathing a sigh of relief, Mikey returned his attention to gazing restlessly out of the window and contemplating the theme for his latest creative masterpiece, a work of art currently unfinished and ingeniously entitled 'The Rise and Fall of Fredrick von Pinkelston the Butterfly'.  
  
"I dream a dream..." he murmured to himself, scribbling the words down on the small notepad he held in front of him, ready for flashes of inspiration just like this. "A dream so extreme, it doth make me scream. Yon butterfly, his wings all pretty... engaging in a trifling ditty. Dearest Fredrick, antennae so bright! Go forth, my friend, into the night." He frowned, staring blindly down at the incomprehensible scrawl that was his handwriting as he tried to think up a second stanza.  
  
He being the easily-distracted individual that he was, and the journey being so fraught with fascinating sights and reasons for his attention to be drawn from his poem, Mikey had not managed to develop his ideal beyond this point before he heard the authoritative bark of Miss Finster's voice demanding that they gather their things together and prepare to disembark.  
  
Shaking his head in a futile attempt to gather his thoughts, Mikey turned his attention to the window, and saw with some surprise that the bus was pulling up into the gravel driveway of what appeared to be an enormous house of some kind. With some effort, he wiped the anticipation from his features and set to work collecting up the countless discarded balls of paper that lay strewn about him, evidence of the effort he had put into his failed attempt at poetry over the course of the journey.  
  
Of course, had he not been so sidetracked, many of those discarded efforts would have resulted in true and genuine additions to his solitary finished stanza, but he had learned well enough in his time, not to dwell upon unfinished poetry, as it was all too probable that he would find the opportunity to continue the endeavour at various points during the trip.  
  
These thoughts secure in his mind, he turned to offer Gus--who quivered nervously beside him--a warm and reassuring smile. Murmuring a quiet "Take it easy, little fella," in the military drop-out's direction, he climbed to his feet, scarcely waiting for the bus to cease moving before stepping out into the aisle, and beginning to make his way--head held high and proud-- towards the doors that creaked open, their gentle hiss marking the final beginning of a week that Mikey was certain he wouldn't forget.  
  
*  
  
As he stepped out into the aisle, moving to follow his friends as they began the seemingly endless walk to the front of the bus, Vince shifted uncomfortably; strong and confident in himself as he was, he couldn't deny the slight twinge of uncertainty that knotted around his stomach as he took that first painful step off the bus. "Well," he said, voice strong and oozing with his usual confidence to hide his inner unease. "Here we are... a whole week of total freedom!"  
  
"Yeah! 'Bout time!" cried Spinelli, leaping down the well-worn stairs and onto the pavement below. "Let's dump our stuff and get started already! I'm itchin' for some action!"  
  
"Calm yourself, Spinelli," said Gretchen, and Vince noted with some discomfiture the stiff formality of her tone; even for Gretchen, she was sounding reserved. "I sincerely doubt Miss Finster will allow us to begin our activities this soon after arrival anyway. It would be my hypothesis that we will be instructed to retire to our sleeping quarters to unpack first..."  
  
As if reading the intellectual's mind, the grating voice of Miss Finster cut into their conversation, stating in no uncertain terms that they students were to do exactly that. "Don't loiter now. Boys, follow Miss Grotke to your rooms, girls follow me. No straggling, and *no* hooliganism."  
  
"Yeah, yeah..." muttered TJ as he made the first move to follow the foreboding Finster into the enormous house; swallowing uneasily, Vince followed.  
  
Waving to Gretchen and Spinelli as the girls were led over to a side- entrance to the house, Vince turned his attention to the front door, which Finster approached with stoic confidence. Rapping sharply on the door, she stepped back to wait for a response. Vince glanced at his friends, finding his puzzled expression mirrored in each of their countenances. "Now," Finster was lecturing, eyeing the door impatiently, "there are strict rules you're going to obey while you're here. The owners of the house will be here while we're staying, and I expect *all* of you to treat them with utmost respect..."  
  
Before she had the chance to go on, the door was opened, and a handsome- looking young man offered the assembled kids a warm smile. "Right on time," he said, speaking in an accent that Vince couldn't quite place. "Muriel Finster, pleasure to see you again, ma'am, and may I say you look lovelier every time I see you? Your presence within these hallowed halls--"  
  
"That will be quite enough flattery, thank you," snapped Finster. As Vince and the other Fourth-Graders struggled to stifle their giggles, she shot each of them a vicious glare, before turning to address the man. "Glad to see you've not lost your ability to lie through your teeth, Sullivan," she said, though her annoyed expression did seem to mask something of a smirk. "You know the drill. Fourth-Graders ready to be taken up to their rooms, just like last time, and the time before..." She shook her head.  
  
The man grinned and nodded. "No problem, Muriel." He turned to face the assembled boys, still smiling widely; Vince was beginning to wonder if the man's expression was permanently fixed into some sort of smarmy grin. "All right. You all know what groups you're supposed to be in. I want you to get into your groups now, and follow me upstairs." This said, he stepped aside, allowing the throng to step into the house and take that first all- important look around.  
  
As the rest of the Fourth-Grade shuffled into something resembling the groups they had been assigned to, Vince stepped aside with Gus, nervously eyeing the décor; the one thing that was painfully obvious from even that first glance was that this house was *not* designed for kids. Beautiful paintings and pieces of bone china hung upon expensive wallpaper, and everywhere Vince and his friends looked, there was a new item of value. Not exactly the safest place for prank-pulling.  
  
This contemplation was cut short, however, as the strange young man that had greeted them was already beginning to ascend a beautifully-carpeted staircase to the upper part of the house. "C'mon... don't want you getting lost on your first day, now. I know you guys think being stuck in a room with four other kids, but the rooms are really big, so don't worry."  
  
And big, they were. Vince's group was the first to be deposited in what was to be their bedroom for the upcoming week, and as he stepped inside, he couldn't keep the expression of acute awe from touching his features. The room was at least twice the size of his usual bedroom, and the beds seemed comfortable enough to live in. "Man!" he cried, his confidence returning. "We hit the jackpot!"  
  
"Start getting your stuff unpacked, while I show the others to their rooms," said the man that Finster had addressed as Sullivan, "Miss Finster says that you're supposed to meet up with the rest of your posse in the main hall downstairs at precisely Thirteen-Hundred Hours. Try not to be late."  
  
And with that, he left.  
  
The room consisted of two bunk-beds and one single; each of which appeared positively luxurious by comparison to what Vince was used to. There were numerous closets, drawers, and other facilities for storing luggage, and as he looked around--taking in the crushed-velvet curtains, the perfect- quality navy-blue carpet, the soft lilac wallpaper--the self-assured jock had already decided that he and Gus had struck pure gold; he only hoped TJ and the others were as lucky in their room designation.  
  
"Man, this is great!" Vince cried, diving headfirst onto the single bed; he remained consciously oblivious of the disgusted 'tsk' that escaped Menlo's lips as he watched this act of juvenile childishness. "These rooms are so *big*! And, man, this bed is comfy!"  
  
"You said it, Vince!" Gus chirped, standing in the centre of the room beside his suitcase, and gazing at his surroundings, clearly impressed. "Maybe this trip *is* gonna be fun!"  
  
"Yes, yes." This latter voice belonged to Menlo, who stood a short distance from Gus, running a critical eye over his surroundings. "As it appears, we have been lucky in the choice of room our host deemed us worthy of inhabiting. Therefore, I suggest we do his decision justice and begin unpacking and organising ourselves in a methodical and sensible fashion..."  
  
Vince laughed; he couldn't help himself. "Yeah, *right*, Menlo!" he cried. "We got a whole *week* to get unpacked an' organised! I say we paaaaaaaaar- ty! Who's with me!?"  
  
Gus, of course, being the loyal friend that he was, stepped immediately to his buddy's side; clearly the impressive surroundings had re-instated his faith in the potential Fun Factor of this trip, and he seemed ready now to take advantage of the freedom to the best of his--admittedly somewhat limited--ability. With a smug grin, Vince turned towards where Phil the Woodchuck Scout stood firmly beside Menlo, clearly of the belief that the office-boy's decision was preferable.  
  
"Really, you guys," This latter voice belonged to Digger Dave, who stood in the centre of the room, one foot placed atop his suitcase. "Do I have to teach ya how to do *everything8?" With one swift movement, that even Vince's keen eye had to strain to catch, he flipped his suitcase open using the same foot as had been resting upon it, and stooped to draw out two parts to what looked like a shovel. "Watch and learn, amateurs," he said, his cool tone making Vince want to strangle him.  
  
Attaching the shovel head to its handle, he paused only for as long as it took to pull open the nearest of the large collection of drawers that littered the room--clearly with the intention of being filled with what meagre belongings the Fourth-Graders had brought with them. Then, in one quick movement, he hoisted the shovel, and heaved the entire contents of his suitcase into the drawer. Unable to keep a smug smirk from touching his features, he leaned back.  
  
"And *that* is how you unpack," he said, laying himself down on the nearest bed--namely the bottom bunk to the largest of the two bunk-beds, "but, of course, *you* wouldn't want *my* help unpackin', *would* you?" Clearly trying not to grin, he laid back and closed his eyes.  
  
"Yeah, right..." muttered Vince, even as Phil and Gus begged Digger Dave to teach them his effective and oh-so-efficient method of unpacking. "Thanks but no thanks, *Dave*. I can handle my own stuff perfectly fine by myself." He shook his head in disgust and set to work.  
  
Much to his surprise, Menlo agreed. "I concur wholeheartedly, my athletic companion," he stated in what he clearly assumed to be a friendly tone. "Unpacking and organising one's luggage single-handedly and without the aid of extraneous instruments gives one an air of self-satisfaction." Regarding Digger Dave with a scowl, he shook his head. "I shall organise *my* things the 'old-fashioned' way," he went on, then turned to face Vince once again. "Far more enjoyable, don't you agree?"  
  
'Oh boy...' thought Vince, offering Menlo a weak smile that held little of the freaky young man's apparent enthusiasm. 'This is gonna be a *long* week...'  
  
*  
  
Rendezvous Hour could not have been any slower in arriving, as far as TJ Detweiller was concerned. In the short time that he had been given to unpack, organise himself, and mingle with his 'roomies' for the week, he had endured nothing short of torture. Threats from Randall, ominous warnings from Butch, and--possibly the worst--incomprehensible babble passing between Jimmy the Guru Kid and Mikey Blumberg so fast that TJ's head spun just trying to keep up with it all.  
  
"Oh TJ!" cried Mikey as the two of them made their way down the flamboyant staircase towards the main hall where they had been instructed to meet up with the others. From the top of the staircase, TJ could see a small group had already assembled, but it was clear that the majority of the Fourth Grade were yet to arrive. "Isn't this inspirational?" the enthusiastic poet continued. "Our room is so very beautiful, and the Guru Kid has promised to coach me in attaining perfect spiritual enlightenment!" Pausing, he looked to his cap-wearing friend, a rapturous smile upon his face.  
  
TJ rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Mikey," he said, expression void of emotion. "Real inspirational." He sighed, and added under his breath, "I just hope the others got better luck than I did..."  
  
Mikey clearly didn't note the sarcasm in his friend's voice--or perhaps he simply chose to ignore it--as his grin grew ever wider. Shaking his head, TJ tuned out Mikey's voice as the overgrown poet broke into song right there, and turned his attention to the assembled kids below. It was clear that the vast majority of the group were yet to arrive at the rendezvous point, but even in the small collection of students that had already made their way down, TJ spotted immediately the familiar faces of Gretchen and Spinelli, and he picked up speed as he moved to greet them.  
  
"Teej!" Almost before TJ and Mikey had descended that final step, Spinelli had thrown herself at them, grabbing TJ's shirt collar and shaking him so hard that he could feel his brains rattling. "Teej! Ya gotta do somethin'! It's horrible... *horrible*!" She continued this delirious ranting for some time before Mikey and Gretchen managed to extricate TJ from her vice-like grip. "Ya gotta help me!"  
  
Steadying himself somewhat, TJ shook his head slightly as he stepped safely away from both the staircase and the ranting Spinelli. "Will you calm down?" he demanded, no small amount of aggravation showing through in his voice; the last thing he needed in his current frame of mind was to be shaken to death by one of his best friends. "What's so horrible?"  
  
"The Ashleys!" cried Spinelli, and had it not been for Mikey's strong arms holding her back, she would have lunged at TJ again and resumed her prior act of throttling him. "The *Ashleys*, Teej! It's horrible! They threatened to... to..." She broke off, struggling for words.  
  
Gretchen chuckled slightly, and completed the terrified tomboy's sentence. "According to Spinelli, the Ashleys threatened her with... a makeover."  
  
TJ and Mikey looked at each other for a few seconds, both uncertain as to what to say in response to this revelation. "Well, uh... gee, Spinelli, that's rough..." TJ murmured eventually. "Wish there was somethin' we could do for ya, but, you know..." He shrugged, then lapsed into a perfect imitation of Miss Grotke's earlier warnings. "No complaining! Y'know... just gotta grin and bear it."  
  
"Are you *listening* to me, TJ?" Spinelli yelled, struggling against Mikey's restraining hold. "The *Ashleys* threatened *me* with a *makeover*! Do you *know* what somethin' like that could do to my *rep*? Do you have any *idea* how *humiliating* it'd be?"  
  
TJ shrugged; of course he wanted to help Spinelli out of her situation, but he had heard Grotke's warnings just as well as she had. No complaints, no arguments. There was nothing she or he, or anyone else would be able to do. So why try? "You'll get over it," he said with a sigh. "We'll all get over it." Turning to face Gretchen, he forced a smile. "How's it goin' on your side, Gretch?"  
  
Clearly understanding TJ's resignation, Gretchen nodded. "Well enough, I think. Kurst the Worst and Sue-Bob Murphy seem to have 'plans' for me, but Swinger Girl and Upside-Down Girl appear to be on my side; I believe the bullies will have their hands full against all three of us." Returning her leader's forced smile, she paused for a moment. "And yourself?"  
  
With Mikey in the vicinity, TJ didn't dare state how much he had loathed the short time he had been alone with his 'group'. Instead, he offered a careless shrug. "Yeah... fine, y'know?" Glancing uneasily at Mikey, he gritted his teeth and waited for the inevitable recited poetry.  
  
The gentle giant had scarcely opened his mouth, however, before he was cut short by Spinelli. "I don't *believe* you guys! You expect me ta sit an' take this?" She turned, stabbing a finger at Gretchen. "You wanna jus sit there an' *take* whatever Kurst the Worst has got planned for ya? And *you*- -" moving to perform the same act against TJ "--you're gonna just 'get over' the stuff that Randall's gonna try and do to ya, the minute you close your eyes? Pathetic."  
  
"...Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous Fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles..." quoted Mikey, his colourful language earning him a baffled stare from TJ and a murderous scowl from Spinelli, "...and by opposing, end them?"  
  
Gretchen cleared her throat discreetly. "An interesting analogy, Mikey," she commented quietly. "But our friend Hamlet was questioning between life and death... not debating whether or not he should--" she glanced at Spinelli "--beat the Ashleys to a pulp."  
  
Spinelli opened her mouth to respond, but hadn't even managed to utter a single expletive before Finster stepped forwards from shadows that TJ was certain had not been there moments earlier. "All right, you little hooligans," she snapped, voice carving through the chatter like a hot knife through butter. "Be quiet and pay attention. I'm not going to repeat myself..." Offering the assembled students a piercing glare, she glanced at the top of the staircase, where a handful of stragglers were making their way stealthily down towards the rendezvous point. "While you are here, you will abide by *strict* rules, enforced by *me*. Any breaking of these rules will result in a punishment the likes of which you miscreants dare not even *imagine*. Have I made myself clear? Good." This last was uttered without even waiting for a response from her assembled protégés, even as her eyes wandered over them.  
  
"What Miss Finster is trying to say," offered Miss Grotke, who had been standing unobtrusively behind the towering form of the other teacher, "is that, there are rules that should be obeyed while you're here, but other than that, have fun, enjoy yourselves, and rock on!"  
  
"You're a wimp, Grotke," muttered Finster. "A spineless tree-hugging wimp."  
  
Biting back a smirk, Miss Grotke went on, returning her attention to the assembled students. "I hope you all had a long rest on the bus, because you have a busy afternoon ahead of you. Retire, if you would, to the kitchen, where you will prepare your own lunches, and then we will be going on a nice relaxing hike, so as to get acclimatised to the tai-chi of the surrounding area. Isn't that inspiring?" Clapping her hands together with obvious excitement, she was clearly unaware of the complete lack of enthusiasm that struck the faces of her young charges as they stared blankly at her.  
  
"You heard your instructions," snapped Finster, rolling her eyes at Miss Grotke, yet still sustaining her deadly 'don't mess with me' air. "Kitchen. Now. March, you little hooligans."  
  
And march they did, each student muttering aggravated expletives aimed in Finster's direction. "Man, this whomps!" TJ cried, voicing the opinion of all assembled. "We gotta make our own lunches, and go out an' get exercise before we've even got settled down?"  
  
"It certainly appears that way," Gretchen observed as they trooped into the spacious kitchen, where a selection of sandwich-fillers lay spread out alongside loaves of bread, over an enormous work-surface. "I must admit," she went on, staring at the expanse of foodstuffs that met their gaze, "this does seem rather unfair, exposing young children to the complexities of food-preparation."  
  
Spinelli was grinning widely. "Unfair, nothin'! Man, this is the best thing they could've done!!" she said, narrowing her eyes dangerously at the Ashleys, who had positioned themselves a short distance away. "Pass me that bread-knife, willya? The *really* big one..."  
  
"Don't even think about it," said TJ, shaking his head in disgust as he struggled to adopt a sincere and mature tone of voice. "No knives. No threatening the Ashleys." He leaned in a little closer and whispered, "you got a better chance of getting 'em while they're asleep, anyway..."  
  
"Who was gonna be *threatenin'* the Ashleys?" replied Spinelli with a smirk. "But you're right, Teej... no point takin' 'em out with the whole Grade as witnesses."  
  
Making a quick mental note to keep Spinelli *far* away from all sharp objects for the duration of the trip, TJ then turned his attention to the others; Gretchen, of course, was having no problems in the complex science of sandwich-making. Her sandwiches were perfectly streamlined, cut with breathtaking precision, and contained exactly the right balance between bread and filling. Mikey's sandwiches were... large. Very large. TJ didn't want to know how the oversized poet was going to fit the things into his mouth, but he reminded himself that Mikey had consumed far larger delicacies in his time.  
  
Vince and Spinelli seemed rather unable to comprehend the task that had been set before them; their attempts were not exactly 'sandwiches', but TJ was really at a loss to find another definition for them... other than alien life-forms. Gus, surprisingly, seemed to know exactly what he was doing; though his own sandwiches lacked Gretchen's perfect form, or Mikey's bulk, they nonetheless *looked* like sandwiches. Which was more than TJ could say for his own.  
  
Occasionally, Miss Grotke or Miss Finster would pause to help out one of their charges, and, looking at the chaos surrounding them, TJ guessed that they were beginning to question how sensible it had been to force the students to make their own meals. However, it was only a few minutes before the entire ordeal was over, and they were once again called into silence as Miss Grotke once again began to lecture them in the next stage of their excursion. "All right, campers!" she said cheerfully, pausing to wipe a splotch of mustard from her forehead. "Let's get going! Miss Finster is going to be staying behind to prepare a tasty and healthy dinner for when we return, but we will be accompanied on our hike by one of the current dwellers of this beautiful house." She gestured towards the young man TJ and his friends had met on first entering the house--the one Finster had called 'Sullivan'--who had unobtrusively entered the room and had been watching the students in their sandwich-making struggles.  
  
"Hey guys," he said in what he obviously assumed to be a cool teenagerish voice. "Name's Sullivan. I've got our route for this afternoon's hike all planned out, and I'm sure you'll all have a great time." Ignoring the sarcastic groans from the assembled kids, he gestured expansively towards the door, and set to work ushering the students from the kitchen and out into the real world. "C'mon, quit looking so miserable. The first step to having a good time is being optimistic about it, so stop looking so downhearted, and let's go out there and have some *fun*!"  
  
"Oh great..." muttered Spinelli as they followed Sullivan outside. "Just what we need. Another Miss Grotke fillin' our heads with pretty flowers and fluffy little animals... fun, fun, fun."  
  
There was no way of mistaking the sarcasm in her voice, and--loathe as he was to admit it--TJ couldn't help agreeing. One hippie-teacher was bad enough, but two? They would be lucky to endure this hike without barfing their badly-made sandwiches. "Well, guys," he said with a resigned sigh, knowing that there was no getting out of it. "Let's get this over with..."  
  
* TBC.  
  
Hopefully the next chapter's gonna be a little less boring. *Hopefully* 


End file.
